


A Cure for Wellness

by PuppetMaster55



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Lance (Voltron), Post-Episode: s01e11 The Black Paladin, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-22 13:00:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9608585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PuppetMaster55/pseuds/PuppetMaster55
Summary: In the wake of the corrupted wormhole, Lance wakes up in the company of the Galra. But not everything is as it seems.After all, Voltron is real, isn't it?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I blame the art of hardlynotever over on tumblr for this.

Someone was screaming, and Lance didn't know who. He tried to call out over the comms, tried to figure out what was happening, but everyone was speaking over each other. He barely managed to get a sentence out – what did Coran _mean_ , the wormhole was corrupted – when everything shuddered. Normally – _usually_ , being in the pilot's seat of Blue meant that he wasn't subjected to the motions like anyone else was. Lance remembered that first trip to the edge of their galaxy, when everyone had been clutching each other and clutching him and screaming in his ear. He had been in The Zone back then, had put his full focus on piloting Blue. Except now, Blue was being tossed around the hanger, and Lance was having to hold on tight to the controls, feeling the forces pull against him as he was tossed along as well.

That's when the screaming started.

Lance felt Blue get thrown from the hanger, felt himself lose his seating. He heard something about staying together, but couldn't tell who said it. Allura? Shiro? He couldn't tell over the screaming. His helmet was flung from his head, bouncing over the walls, and the comms went with it. The screaming persisted, and Lance, horrified, realized that the screaming was coming from him. He clung to one of the steering columns – the one on the left, which he was gripping with all his might as the inertia pulled him up, to the side, back, forward, down.

It was dizzying, the forces of Blue spinning through the wormhole, circling the Castle of Lions with everyone else. The HUD was nauseating to look out, but Lance felt Blue jolt as they hit Green. The hit nearly sent him flying, and Lance felt his blood rush away from his head and toward it, his vision whiting out briefly.

Lance couldn't let himself pass out. He could still get back into the castle. They were still circling the castle, were still inside the wormhole, and the hangar doors were still open. All he needed to do was climb back into the pilot's seat and everything would be righted. He could take control of this orbit around the Castle of Lions, steady Keith and Pidge enough for them to take back control themselves, help Hunk and Shiro into the hangar. He knew that he wasn't the only one out there, had been spinning enough to know that all of them were outside of the castle. But he could fix things, all he needed to do was take back control of Blue, and everything would be pieced back together.

Too late, he realized the issue with his plan, as Blue gave another shuddering jerk and Lance nearly slipped free of the steering column. He looked up at the HUD as he was flung forward, toward the front end of Blue's cockpit. The discarded helmet slammed into Lance's head, stunning him. His grip on the steering column loosened, sending him into free fall.

The last thing he saw as darkness pulled him away was of Blue's empty cockpit.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Lance woke with a gasp, shuddering as he curled in on himself – or tried to. He was strapped down to something soft, his arms wrapped around him in too long sleeves. Lance grit his teeth, settling down to take stock. First up, where was he?

Lance looked around, but the room was a plain white, void of anything that could identify who was holding him captive. He didn't know how they got him out of Blue, but figured that it was similar to how he had let Nyma board Blue – the particle barriers were only up in the event of no pilot present.

Which left the unsettling knowledge of _Lance was not in Blue_ , and that left him with the issue of finding Blue again.

Next up, Lance was immobilized. He was wearing what seemed to be a full-body straightjacket, his arms firmly strapped around his torso and his legs bound together, and all of him firmly bound to the bed. What lance assumed was a mouth guard was shoved in his mouth and carefully strapped in, the binding wrapping around his head. Even if Lance managed to loosen that, he couldn't get the mouth guard out as there was a muzzle – an actual, Hannibal Lector style muzzle – strapped over the lower half of his face. Thankfully enough, his head was settled on a comfy and very puffy pillow, because his captors apparently took his comfort into consideration while they strapped him down.

Knowing now that he was away from Blue, was strapped down, was alone, was more than enough for him to consider about his own circumstances. It wouldn't do much to know what planet he was on until he knew for sure whether or not he was _on_ a planet. Even then, it was only relevant if he couldn't get off-planet and needed to send a message.

But then, that was only _if_ he needed to send a message. Until he knew more about his current status as someone's prisoner, he couldn't settle to concrete plans beyond getting out of his bonds. Of course, that didn't mean that he _shouldn't_ have plans, just that he couldn't commit to a single idea until he knew the whole situation.

So, Lance was strapped down, away from Blue – which, worryingly enough, was more than enough to nearly derail his thoughts because _he couldn't feel her_ – and with no idea of whether it was just himself who was captured or if there was anyone else. The last thing he remembered was spinning out of control outside of the Castle, the wormhole corrupted, and–

 _My helmet_ , Lance realized. Of course it would be that. Rule one of the Galaxy Garrison: don't lose your head.

The rule was as much about maintaining a cool head as it was about keeping one's helmet in a secure location at all times – even, and _especially_ , if you were wearing it at the time. There had even been a chant at the Galaxy Garrison to ensure that everyone knew how important it was: the helmet is your head, without it you were dead. Lance had lost his helmet, to be sure, but he was far from dead.

Of course, Galaxy Garrison hadn't taught them to handle a potential hostage situation, but Lance could certainly improvise as necessary.

Lance blinked, looking in the corners of the cell for any hidden cameras. If he was being watched, then no doubt anything he did was being recorded and studied for its meaning. Lance glanced down at himself, shimmying his shoulders and sashaying his hips. The bonds held tight. He laid his head back, groaning through the gag.

If he wasn't gagged, then he could just start singing – maybe something along the lines of _ten thousand bottles of nunvill on the wall_ , just to be annoying – but he couldn't. All that Lance could do was wait for whoever was watching over him to come in. They had to be checking in on him periodically, right? After all, prisoners had to eat, and someone bound up like him – someone as high profile as him, being a Paladin of Voltron that he was – had to be under constant observation. But there was a difference between coming to him immediately after he woke up, and leaving him to lay there and stew in his own imagination.

This left him playing a waiting game, which Lance was determined not to lose. He had a huge family, he had grown up learning the art of war. There was no way that this would leave him betraying his comrades, and he had more than enough faith in them that either they would be finding Blue and busting him out, or that, in the event that he was being kept in the same place as them, they wouldn't betray him or each other.

Which left Lance plotting his own escape. They had to let him loose some time, and when they did, he would lunge. The element of surprise was something that Lance wasn't sure he would have, so he would have to move quick, taking down whoever it was that would be sent in to see to him. After that, there would be at least one guard outside that would rush in to see what the commotion was. Lance would disarm the guard, knock them out if they were living – shoot if they were a robot drone – and leave the bodies locked in the cell. Once outside, he would have to decide between checking the surrounding rooms and going in search of Blue.

If he was on a ship, then Blue would lead Lance right to her, and from there he would know if anyone else was on board. He'd break her free, break out, and then set about destroying the ship.

If he was on a planet, then he would have to do his best to hide among the populace, lose anyone chasing after him in the side streets – maybe hop into the sewer system if he could chance it – and then go in search of Blue.

After that, Lance could just home back in on the Castle of Lions, open a wormhole like before, and regroup with the Princess and Coran and whoever else had managed to stick close to the castle.

It was all so simple, and was open to change based upon whatever hostile forces he would encounter. With any luck, he would come across whatever higher person held his bayard, and Lance would get it back while making sure that they couldn't take it from him or anyone else again.

The wall across from the bed shimmered into a door, through which someone dressed in deep purple robes stepped through. They were heavy-set, with deep blue skin and bright red markings on their face, and they stared at Lance with entirely white eyes.

“Oh my,” they said. Lance noticed that they had a soft voice, almost feminine, but he wasn't eager to ascribe earth gender to an alien species. A tray of food was in their hands. Lance could tell it was food by the delectable smell – which meant that it was either food or it was some kind of poison that was designed to be enticing and make one want to eat it. “You are awake.”

Lance blinked, eyes widening in mock surprise as he looked down at himself then back at the alien as if surprised by that fact himself. He knew that he shouldn't mock his potential captors, but they had gagged his mouth. If he couldn't spout off one-liners or trick his captors into revealing information, then they got sass and mockery through body language.

“Mother Haggar must know,” they said, whirling about to leave the room – and taking the tray with them. Lance felt as much as heard his stomach grumble, and sighed heavily through his nose. Even if it might have been poison, it still smelled more delicious than anything he'd eaten in the past month. Heck, it smelled better than anything he'd eaten in the past two years. The Galaxy Garrison did not believe in feeding the cadets food that they would not encounter out in space, and that left everyone having to endure a diet of freeze-dried foods that Lance was _sure_ were from the American space race of the late 1900s. Back then, he had made it a habit to regularly sneak out and get food that was _not_ 200 years old, or at least try to sneak food _in_ that was from this century. He was still dubious about the quality of the food that was in the Castle's stores, being at least ten thousand years old, but who was Lance to complain when it tasted better than freeze-dried turkey from nineteen sixty-whatever.

That didn't mean that he was about to betray Voltron for a warm meal, though. Lance had _standards_ , okay, and that meant something. Integrity, for one. Loyalty, for another. The knowledge that if he did, he would be known throughout galactic history as the guy who sold out Voltron was also a very important factor to consider.

Seriously, Lance was not going to be That Guy.

The wait for the alien to return didn't take long, and Lance raised an eyebrow when another blue-skinned alien – their markings were two red slashes down either side of their face – entered alongside the first.

“Thank you, Kevak,” the new one said, sounding like an old woman – although again, Lance was loathe to apply earth gender. “Has Lance provided any indication of his psychosis?”

Wait. Wait just one second.

How did they know Lance's name?

“I would not know, Mother Haggar,” Kevak said, shaking their head. Lance was a little disappointed that they were without the food tray this time. “I was only in the room for the briefest of ticks. I came to fetch you as soon as I realized that he was awake.”

“Very well.” Mother Haggar clucked her tongue, gliding close to Lance. Her – if the title was Mother, then Lance was very well justified in placing human gender terms to the aliens until otherwise proven wrong – hands ghosted just above Lance's torso, and he felt goosebumps and the strangest tingle just beneath his skin. The hands moved, and Lance could tell by how the goosebumps and uncomfortable tingle, like the feeling of a feather being drawn along his skin, move. There was a swooping feeling in Lance's stomach as the hands dipped down to his navel, and he inhaled sharply.

Lance froze. He wanted to call magical space foul, wanted to call space stranger danger, wanted to scream and fight and get as far away from this as possible before it could go any worse. He had thought that torture was the worst thing he would have to endure, but _this_?

He met Kevak's eyes, or thought he met their eyes, his own wide and full of terror. His breathing's gone ragged, and Lance was not begging, but he was _begging_. He couldn't call space stranger danger because of the gag, so he needed Kevak to do it in his stead.

Kevak hesitated, sucking in a sharp breath as Haggar's hands moved higher. Lance was never more grateful for a change in direction. He relaxed, just a little, and went back to staring up at the ceiling. Haggar's hands passed over his face, blocking his vision, and Lance could have sworn that the hands were glowing a faint yellow. It was familiar, nagging at Lance's memory like Iverson after a failed simulation or his family during the holidays.

“Are you certain of this?” Kevak asked, sounding far too incredulous in Lance's opinion, as Haggar's hands settled over his head. Lance had the oddest sensation of fingers running through his hair, but he was sure that Haggar wasn't touching him. “The corruption could–”

“Not harm me,” Haggar finished, giving Kevak a sharp look – with glowing yellow eyes. Her hands pulled away, leaving Lance grateful for the reprieve. “His quintessence is not nearly as tumultuous as before. I would even say that he is lucid.” Haggar tilted her head, and Lance felt like she was looking right at his eyes. “Lance appears to be on the mend, I would say.”

“On the mend?” Kevak repeated, shocked. She looked at Lance as though she couldn't believe that he was there, and then turned her attention back to Haggar. “From a Madness Mine? You are certain?”

“He is not cured,” Haggar said, and Lance shivered. What were they even talking about. A Madness Mine? They were talking like he was a warrior saddled with a terminal condition. “However, I would say that he has reached a level of healed that might allow for it. Our methods of healing have come a long way. We have achieved and surpassed usage of quintessence that the Alteans had ten thousand years ago. Is it any surprise that we could heal a victim of a Madness Mine?”

“I– no, Mother Haggar,” Kevak quietly said. “Of course not.”

Oh, there were so many things wrong there, Lance knew, but there were parts that he knew and recognized. They were talking about the Alteans, and quintessence–Lance remembered that from the supply outpost they had raided before going after the Galra High Command, remembered it from the Balmera, from Allura's explanation of the Lions and choosing their Paladins.

But all of it was painting a very horrifying picture for Lance to consider. Whoever these aliens were, they thought that Lance was ill. They thought that he was a victim of some kind of Altean weapon. They didn't give the impression that they recognized him as a Paladin of Voltron, either.

Of course, Lance couldn't exactly blame them for that last one. There were a lot of places in the galaxy that couldn't have heard that Voltron was back. But he would have thought that _Blue_ , at least, would be a clear enough indicator that he was a part of Voltron. There hadn't seemed to be a single part of the known galaxy that hadn't heard of Voltron in some form.

But then, Lance couldn't be sure that he was in the _known_ galaxy. Likewise, he couldn't know that he was in a hospital. They could just be lulling him into a false sense of security so he could volunteer information about the Castle and the other Paladins. He hadn't heard anything so far about the others. But then, the others could be subjected to the same thing.

Lance was a rock. He was not going to break.

“I shall send for Healer Pyrric,” Haggar said, moving toward the door. “Until I return with her, continue your duties as usual.”

“And what about Lance?” Kevak asked.

“Until we have determined that he is no longer a danger, I advise keeping the restraints on,” Haggar said, not stopping. She passed through the doorway, leaving Kevak alone with Lance. Kevak glanced back at Lance before following after Haggar. The door shimmered back into the wall, and Lance groaned through the gag.

Being left alone with his thoughts, Lance figured that there were a lot of ways that his situation could be worse. If he was being honest with himself, while it was far from the best of first impressions, being locked up and mistaken as a victim of Altean technology was far from the worst kind of a first impression. He counted himself lucky that there wasn't any talk of ritual sacrifice, because that would have been too much, even by his standards.

Lance's stomach grumbled in protest, and Lance glanced down as much he could, then back at the wall. He hoped that the one probably-a-nurse, Kevak, would return soon enough with food. Piloting Blue always took a lot more out of him than he expected. Allura liked to say that synchronizing with the Lions was a learning experience, and that the Lions were as tired as the Paladins were, but Lance suspected it was that the synchronizing was a lot more draining on the Paladin end than it was on the Lion end, if it was even that. There was no way that a millennias old sentient space robot was nothing less than a master as giving just the right amount that they were getting.

Basically, Lance was hungry, and with the prospect of food came the prospect of talking to Kevak. Mostly through flirting. If it didn't work, then Lance could save grace and make a new friend while getting out of his bonds. If it did work, then Lance had a new datefriend he could bond with while getting out of his bonds.

Either way, Lance was getting out of his bonds, but only if Kevak ever reappeared with the food tray.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Kevak did not reappear with the food tray. Lance was almost disappointed, but there was the more pressing matter of the fact that Kevak did not return alone. Kevak had brought with her what Lance was pretty sure was a Galra.

He was purple, not particularly furry like Sendak had been, and his smile featured pointier teeth than Lance was comfortable seeing outside of a monster movie. He also, interestingly enough, had the same white eyes that both Kevak and Haggar had.

“Hello Lance,” the Galra greeted him, sounded far more genial than Lance was comfortable with. Lance would liked to have looked at Kevak in betrayal, but that would have meant that he was placing a level of trust in her that she hadn't earned. Maybe if she had brought some food, then he would have brought out his betrayal eyes, but instead she just got a heaping helping of fear and terror.

Because Lance had apparently crash-landed on a Galra-infested planet.

Lance didn't panic, couldn't let himself panic. Garrison rule number two: panic is the enemy. Pilots were demanded to have no fear of crashing. It was why one of the first tests the fighter class was given was the Kobayashi Maru. Granted, it wasn't _actually called_ the Kobayashi Maru, but every student called the no-win test by that name instead of the official title of Jupiter Descending. What it did was weed out any cadets who had a panic response, sending them down to the cargo class.

So. Lance had to come up with a new plan.

First up, beat the fight out of the Galra. Definitely also the guards posted on the other side of the door. Steal one of their weapons, and get out as fast as humanly possible. Faster, even, because he most definitely crash-landed on a Galra-infested planet after having a run-in with Zarkon.

Because, Lance realized, he was locked up without his Lion or his bayard, in the midst of Galra-controlled universe. For all he knew, Zarkon himself was coming to put an end to Lance's tenure as the Blue Paladin. For all he knew, Zarkon already had.

Which meant that about the only reason to keep Lance alive was so he could tell them where to find the castle – and, more importantly, where to find the other lions.

He wasn't sure if he could be more relieved at that knowledge, that it was him and only him that was a prisoner of the Galra. At the very least, Lance was glad that it wasn't any of the others. He knew that if it had been anyone else but him, he would want to switch places with them in less than a heartbeat. He would endure whatever torture they could put him through, if it meant that no one else had to suffer it.

But he could avoid the torture altogether, if he just managed to trick the Galra into loosening up on his bonds. He grew up helping his cousin Marci practice her magic tricks, he knew how to wiggle his way out of smaller bonds. He also knew how to pick locks and slip out of handcuffs because of her.

“You seem perfectly lucid today,” the Galra continued, still smiling that toothy smile. “Mother Haggar says that you're mind is clear. I am here to confirm that.”

The Galra took a step forward, and Lance glanced at Kevak, eyes wide with terror. In response, she merely smiled at him. “Do not fear. Healer Pyrric is well-versed in all forms of noninvasive medical techniques. You must be feeling quite disoriented.”

Lance was, but not for any of the reasons that Kevak might have thought. However, he couldn't voice any of the things that he wanted to say, owing to the unfortunate hurdle that was the gag.

“Pay close attention, Kevak,” Pyrric said, holding out his hands. This time Lance was definitely sure that there was glowing happening. Pyrric moved his hands, and Lance expected to feel the swooping sensation of skin ghosting against skin. Instead, he felt warmth. Comforting warmth. It was like stepping out in a sunny day and feeling the sun warm your skin.

The difference was so stark that Lance was left frozen in place, Pyrric's hands moving and extending that warmth along the edges of his body. He felt it in his right knee, along his back (how that was, Lance couldn't know), and up against his right side. Pyrric seemed to be smiling as his hands trailed their way through the air over Lance's body, coming to a stop on either side of his head. His eyes, interestingly enough, were also glowing yellow.

“Well, this is nothing short of miraculous,” Pyrric murmured, stepping back. “Kevak, come here. You are familiar with the process of medicinal quintessence manipulation, yes?”

“Of course, Healer,” Kevak replied, stepping close. She held up her hands, themselves and her eyes glowing with the yellow light. “What am I to do?”

“Step here,” Pyrric instructed, taking a step to his right for Kevak to stand beside him. “Hold out your hands over the central _Qi_ , but do not probe. Let yourself feel his quintessence.”

Kevak held her hands out, over the center of Lance's navel. It was, interestingly enough, the same spot that Pyrric and Haggar had started, when they had begun their examination. Kevak felt... comforting, but in a different way than Pyrric. Kevak felt unsettlingly familiar in a way that Lance couldn't place. It was like he had encountered her before, had befriended her, had shared life experience with her. Only, that couldn't be, because Lance had absolutely no memory of ever meeting anyone like Kevak in the past.

Kevak started to move her hands under the gentle guidance of Pyrric, moving further and further up, toward his head. Lance tried to focus as much on Kevak as he could on the naggingly familiar sensation, and barely missed how Kevak's head tilted inquisitively.

“It feels different,” Kevak said. “Far less tumultuous.”

“You can say it, Kevak,” Pyrric gently said. “Calmer. His mind is calm. And clear. It appears the treatment has worked. The quintessence has taken. Mother Haggar will be most pleased to hear of this.”

Kevak's hands pulled away, and Lance almost whined at the loss of the sensation, but he had more dignity than that.

He did not have enough dignity, he was sad to discover, not to lean into the missing touch. Kevak glanced back at him worriedly, and Lance thought he caught sight of a frown. “Do I call for Mother Haggar, then?”

“Not as of yet,” Pyrric replied, already moving toward the door. “Maintain observation for support that this lucid state is not fleeting like it has been in the past. However, I would suggest feeding him. You did mention that he had appeared lucid when you came in with his meal. Our Lance here must be starving.”

Okay, Lance had so many issues with that statement, but the pleading moans of his stomach couldn't deny him the truth that he _was_ indeed starving. He could only hope that Kevak would return with the good-smelling food again, and that he could have the good fortune to have his bonds loosened enough for him to break free.

At the very least, the loss of the gag could allow him to barter for time spent not wearing it. His jaw was starting to ache something fierce and Lance would not allow a sore jaw to be his downfall. The Galra may have taken much of his dignity, but he still had his pride, and his calculating mind, and those they couldn't take away from him.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Lance had come to terms during his time left alone that he would cry when the food returned. And not the quiet kind of weeping, but sobbing. It had smelled like spices, and far too much like the food back on earth.

Three weeks eating nothing but Altean foods – which, one day after leaving Arus, amounted to the sour, bitter-tasting food goo – had left Lance ready to cry for anything that was warm and tasted... nothing like food goo, really.

To that end, Lance understood that his immediate reaction to Kevak was to take the deepest breath he could to savor the smell of the food. It smelled like a stew, and Lance didn't care a single bit what was in it, only that it was warm and flavorful. So he cried, big fat tears, and took no shame in it. The food might not be poisoned, but he could suffer whatever truth serum or drug they laced it with. His mother was a lawyer, Lance knew far too well how he could twist the truth so that he could say it without really betraying anything. The thing about truth serums, even the magical ones, was that it never specified what value of truth was to be divulged. Lance, at least, could use that against his captors.

Kevak saw Lance sobbing, saw him shuddering, and her expression softened. She let go of the tray, and it hovered in the air beside her as she approached Lance.

“It is alright to cry,” she said. “Although I do not know why you do so. You are safe here.”

Lance blinked through the tears, looking first at Kevak and then at the tray. His stomach grumbled again, and Kevak blinked, letting out a soft laugh and a softer smile.

“So you cry for the food?” Kevak smiled. “I am not surprised. Grevon has been one of your favored meals during your stay here.”

Jerking against his bonds, Lance gave Kevak a simpering look. If he played this right, then Kevak would loosen his bonds. She seemed the kind sort of person. Lance hated to play off of the kindness of others, but he was in a tight spot. As a little kid, Lance had learned English partly from reruns of Star Trek. The show was old, almost three centuries by Lance's count, and still it was shaping how the earth advanced its technology and friendliness toward each other. The Galaxy Garrison was modeled, in large part, by the Federation.

Lance loved to think of himself as a regular Kirk, kind and outgoing and more than ready to trust that there was good and kindness in others. Which was why he hated that he would have to perform for Kevak, would have to betray her kindness. A breach of trust was not one easily mended.

“I understand,” Kevak said, reaching her hands – thick hands with fat fingers more dextrous than anyone else would expect – out to unlock the mask over his face. The belt around his neck was loosened away, and Lance coughed through his nose, the gag still in place. He hadn't realized how much the bond had chaffed until it was gone. It was a small mercy, at least, that the belt around his neck had only been connected to the mask on his face, and not to the bed itself.

Kevak's fingers unlatched the gag, and Lance relaxed his jaw when it was pulled out of his mouth. He coughed, turning it into a chuckle.

“Thanks for that,” Lance said, giving Kevak his most charming, most disarming smile. He glanced at the rest of his body, which was still bound up tight, and then at the tray of food. “Seems I'm a bit tied up to get the food. I don't suppose you can help loosen me up?”

“Oh, Lance,” Kevak bemoaned – rather playfully, Lance was glad to see and hear – at him. “Can't you remember?”

The bed shifted, moving Lance into a sitting position without shifting the bonds at all.

“Holy crow,” Lance said, raising an eyebrow. “That's something.”

“It's nothing new to you, Lance,” Kevak said, frowning at the blank wonder in his eyes.

“It really isn't,” Lance replied, sighing. He should have expected this. It was too much to expect an advanced alien species wouldn't have advanced methods of detainment. It was more still to expect that he of all people would have his bonds loosened.

“Don't you remember?” Kevak asked, still frowning. “What happened to you?”

“I do remember that,” Lance said. “It's how I got _here_ that confuses me.” He glanced at the tray. “Look, if I can't feed myself, can you just... direct that to me? Maybe set it on my lap with, like, a straw. Actually, it probably shouldn't be my lap, since I can't really move it if things get too hot below the belt.”

“Lance.” Kevak moved the tray so it was hovering over his lap. With the tray directly in front of him, Lance could finally see the stew. The vegetables Lance could see were a bright purple, and the broth was blue, and the meat was a dull green color, but it smelled far too delicious for Lance to really care about that. A sleek black spoon lay beside the bowl. “Please allow me to do this for you. And do answer my questions with as much detail as you can. Do you know where you are?”

Lance looked from the tray to Kevak. “I can answer the questions or I can eat. I can't really do both.”

“Between bites, then,” Kevak dryly replied. She picked up the spoon, dipping it into the stew. It steamed as she held it out for him. “Let's begin.”

“Just like that?” Lance asked, squinting at the spoon. “What if I refuse to answer?”

“You have that option,” Kevak replied, still holding out the spoon. “But as the saying goes, you cannot build your herd without hatching a few zeppla. We cannot help you if you don't open up.”

Lance blinked, processing that statement. Was that... the space equivalent of the metaphor about the omelet and breaking eggs? Lance didn't think that term applied here.

“I don't think you're using that term correctly,” Lance said with a grin.

“Very well,” Kevak sighed. “How about this one: there is no glory in a battle against your own pride.”

“You wound me, Kevak,” Lance declared. “Right in the pride.”

“That was not my intent,” Kevak loftily said. “I am uniquely qualified to be a part of the druidic order. I am studying to be a healer. It is against my code to wound another.” She paused. “But your pride is healed easily enough, I can imagine.”

Lance laughed, and it shocked him enough to leave him reeling. This wasn't how he expected an interrogation to go. This wasn't how he expected being a prisoner of the Galra would go. He figured there would be a lot more torture, or that they would send him off with the other prisoners.

Really, Lance figured that there would be more Zarkon. There was a very suspicious lack of Zarkon ever since Lance woke up. That meant that he had crashed far enough from the main base that Zarkon could not readily travel to him. It also presented a theory Lance found very interesting to consider: the Galra did not have the same methods of wormhole travel across the galaxy that the Castle and Lions had. If it proved true, then it meant that Voltron could do more to hide a main base of operations, and it meant that they wouldn't be pushing against the borders of the Galra empire. Instead, they could free planets and systems from all points and parts of the known universe. It meant that, instead of systematically dismantling every bit of the Galra empire, all Voltron needed to do was destabilize it. And then it would fall apart.

Afterward, Lance figured that Allura could set up some kind of senatorial system, allowing trade and contact among the galaxy. A lot like the old galactic republic from Star Wars, Lance mused. Except minus all the creepy Sith political cheese. After all, the Galra were the figureheads of an _empire_ , and no empire could fall without a new system of power to replace it. Lance didn't want to know what horrors could be created out of that kind of power vacuum.

A spoonful of stew gently shoved at his mouth broke Lance from his musings, and he offered Kevak a wary grin. “So how did a beauty like you ever end up working under the Galra?”

Kevak frowned, gesturing insistently with the spoon. “Eat, and I might answer that question.”

“Answer my question and I might eat,” Lance blithely replied. His stomach grumbled in protest, knowing the food was close at hand, but Lance was keeping from eating. He didn't know the first thing about interrogation, but he figured that all this gentleness was deliberate. It was to soften Lance up, get him to care about someone on their side, and then use that person as leverage should he prove too obstinate to hand over the knowledge they desired.

Worse still, Lance still wasn't sure if there was something in the food that would get him to talk or not. It looked odd, but smelled terrific, and Lance wasn't sure how long he could hold out in this war against his stomach.

The spoon approached Lance's mouth, and he expertly shifted his lips, pinching them shut as much as he could. The spoon stopped, but Lance didn't take his eyes off of it as Kevak sighed. She tried to feed him again, the spoon moving toward his mouth, and Lance moved, tilting his head as far as he could, keeping the spoon a steady distance from his mouth. Kevak huffed.

“You are worse than a pup.”

A hand shot out, fingers pinching Lance's nose shut. Lance squinted at Kevak, knowing what she was doing. But he had a fantastic lung capacity, thank his beach upbringing very much, and he could manage well over three minutes without having to take a breath. Granted, that was when he had prepared and was expecting it, but still. Lance could manage at least ninety seconds, which would be enough for Kevak to let up. That was assuming that she didn't know about the lung capacity of humans, of course.

Kevak stubbornly held out, glaring at Lance as he refused to open his mouth. She squeezed harder on his nose, twisting a little, and Lance held through the pain. His stomach felt like it was collapsing in on itself, the traitor, and cried out for the food. But Lance would not lose. As much as Kevak was a kind person (because aliens were people too), she still worked for the Galra. If he ate the food, it was as good as admitting defeat.

Lance took his mind away from the thoughts of food by focusing on the feel of Kevak's fingers. It seemed that she was covered in a very fine layer of fur, not hairless like he'd originally thought. Her nails were also sharper than Lance expected, when they dug their way into his skin. Lance bit back the groans of pain, but it matched with the protesting ache of his stomach and the slow burning of his lungs.

With a heavy heart, Lance conceded defeat, opening his mouth to take a gulp of air. Kevak's white eyes shone with victory, and the moment Lance made to take a deep breath she shoved the spoon into his mouth. Lance groaned, but was grateful for the spoon keeping the stew from touching his tongue, even if it meant that the roof of his mouth would get burned.

His relief was short-lived, as Kevak twisted the spoon, dumping the stew out of the spoon and pulling it from his mouth in one fell swoop. Her one hand didn't leave his nose, and she fixed him with a hard glare.

“Do not spit it out, Lance,” Kevak gravely said. “I have worked hard on this meal and you _will_ eat it. And you will enjoy it like you always have.” Kevak straightened up, not taking her eyes off of Lance. “I don't know where this insouciance came from, but it isn't appreciated. We work hard for your comfort. If I have to get Healer Pyrric back in here, neither of us will come out of this unscathed. So. _Eat the grevon_.”

Lance nodded, letting himself taste the grevon – and felt his eyes start to water.

It was spicy, and the vegetables offered a nice crunch when he chewed, and it was the _most delicious thing_ that Lance had eaten in well over a year. The stew was surprisingly sweet to the taste, the broth absolute heaven. The meat as well was a delight, literally falling apart in his mouth and tasting like a nicely roasted brisket.

He cried, the big fat tears that he knew would happen, and Kevak nodded, satisfied. She let go of Lance's nose, and smiled, softly. Kevak sniffled, reaching a hand up to wipe at her eyes. “Would you stop crying already? You're making me cry.”

Lance smirked, swallowing through his tears and the laughter that threatened to bubble up. “I can't help it. It's just so good.”

“Well thank you,” Kevak proudly said, puffing up in pride. She held out another spoonful of stew for Lance, who eagerly ate it. “I'm glad _someone_ around here properly appreciates my cooking.”

Lance swallowed, squinting at the wall behind Kevak. “Well don't you worry your gorgeous head. I'll do all the appreciating that you're missing out on, Hunk.”

Lance froze, eyes widening in horror as his words sank in for them both. This was bad, this was so many layers of bad he wasn't sure where to start. Well, that wasn't true, Lance knew exactly where to start.

“What did you put in that?” he blurted out at the same time that Kevak spoke.

“It's alright I should have–” Kevak paused at Lance's demand, looking at him curiously. “You... believe I laced the grevon with something?”

Lance really should have expected it, but his accusations fell away at the hurt expression on Kevak's face. She looked about five seconds away from – oh, no, she was crying.

She was crying a familiar yellow, viscous fluid. Lance tried to place it, but he couldn't. He felt like he should know what it was, but for the life of him he couldn't remember.

In any event, the crying pushed Lance's attempt at recollection to the side.

“Okay, whoa, hey. Cool your jets. You're Kevak. You're not Hunk. I do know that much.” Lance wasn't sure why that needed to be said, but he assumed that it was because Kevak was unappreciated in whatever role she fulfilled as a nurse (which seemed something like what actual nurses back on Earth were like, which... same difference, really). “I just mixed the two of you up for a moment there. You're Kevak, a really awesome nurse who's really good at her job and fantastic at cooking.”

“You don't have any blame in this,” Kevak said, wiping away her tears – and producing a small vial to collect them in. Lance wondered, idly, if the tears of her species were a commodity of sorts. “I have been known to over-empathize with patients and others. Me crying does not mean you did anything wrong.”

So she was a sympathy crier, Lance realized. “Look, it's still on me. I didn't mean to call you Hunk. If it's an insult in your culture I didn't know. It's the name of a–”

“I know who Hunk is,” Kevak gently interrupted. “And no, it is not an insult. I didn't expect you to call me by that name.”

Lance stared at her, the horror reaffirming itself within him like the kraken rising from the depths of the ocean. She knew about Hunk. She knew specifically about Hunk.

Lance had figured that, given their awesome track record at keeping the rest of the empire from knowing about their identities, that nobody would–

Of course. Rolo, Nyma, and Beezer. They had called in the bounty, and had known all of their names, all of their faces. It figured that trusting them that one time would come back to bite the team in the back. At least Lance knew about his fame now, instead of later on. With any luck the others wouldn't learn the hard way like he had.

Although a part of him was deeply disappointed that _this_ was how he would gain intergalactic fame, as a wanted criminal and not as a majestic hero. At the very least, Lance could work all that harder at being the big hero to fix that, and then all the intergalactic history books would say that he was part of a stunning resistance to Zarkon's rule. It was a small upside to having the history books written by the winners, was that his stint as a criminal would get turned into that of a hero.

In the meantime, Lance could reassure Kevak that he wasn't the horrible criminal the Galra empire likely painted him out to be. She looked like she needed comforting, hurt that Lance mistook her for someone else.

“Hey. Kevak.” She looked at him, schooling her face into a neutral expression. “It's not your fault. Really. Your cooking is awesome, and you just... remind me a lot of my friend.”

Kevak laughed, finding that amusing. “I suppose I would.”

Lance frowned. That didn't make sense. Hunk was kind and compassionate and passionate, but he hadn't shown any of that to Rolo _or_ Nyma, so how would Kevak even know about that? Did Zarkon, in his search for the Lions, know what it required to be a Paladin of each of the Lions?

He must have, since he was so interested in gaining Voltron for his empire – which, now that Lance thought about it, could have been the driving force behind the Galra empire existing in the first place. The Lions had been scattered to the four corners of the galaxy, locations known only to Allura and their old pilots. Without Zarkon knowing that Allura was alive, he would have to resort to capturing the entire galaxy and combing through it for any sign of the Lions.

It led Lance to wonder if there would have ever even _been_ a Galra empire if Allura's dad hadn't hidden the Lions away.

“Lance.” He was pulled out of his thoughts, glancing at Kevak, who stared at him with a look of deep concern. “Can you hear me?”

“...yeah.” Lance looked at Kevak doubtfully. Whatever was going on here, it was seriously wrong. “Kevak, why are you looking at me like that?”

Kevak sighed in relief. Lance felt an unsettling sense of wrongness coil deep in his gut. “I had feared– but it's nothing.”

“It's something.” It really was. Kevak, for all that she was kind like Hunk, still worked for the Galra. It was obvious that she knew something that he didn't. Was she starting to regret holding him hostage, now that she was getting to know him?

Could Lance manage to convince her to let him go free?

“It's nothing that you should concern yourself with, Lance,” Kevak replied. She held out another spoonful of stew. “Please, eat.”

Lance wanted to press for more details, but he knew that it would only close Kevak up more. He sighed. “Alright. But you're going to tell me eventually. That's usually how these kinds of things go.”

Kevak tilted her head, looking at Lance with great consideration. “You're right. But until that time, you must be patient.”

“Fair enough. I'll be patient,” Lance lied. He looked at the bowl of stew. “Would such a beautiful lady be so kind as to feed me?”

“It's hardly a kindness, Lance,” Kevak sighed, holding out another spoonful for Lance. “This _is_ a part of my job.”

And what job was that, exactly, Lance wondered. He hoped that he could find out, soon enough.

 


End file.
